sfs8S^^M£^s<s<^&3E^ 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Statin; 


With  an  Introduction  by  Helen  S.  Woodruff 


First  Edition  Published  December,  1920 


Copyright  MCMXX 
By  Progressive  Publishers 


Published  by 

PROGRESSIVE  PUBLISHERS 

Wheeling,  West  Virginia 
Chicago  New  York 


3511 
d 


Dedicated 

to 

My  Little  Sister 
Alleen 

Who 
Believes 

in 
Romance  and  Love 


612824 
UHUKT 


Foreword 

Once  an  art  critic  said :  "The  Realist  paints 
things  as  they  are;  the  Impressionist  paints 
as  they  seem  to  him;  and  the  Futurist  paints 
things  not  as  they  are  nor  as  they  seem  but 
as  the  Artist  feels — the  reaction  upon  the 
Artist's  heart."  So  these  little  verses  are  not 
according  to  the  laws  of  Rhyme  and  Meter; 
they  are  not  the  product  of  labor  but  rather 
a  spontaneous  outburst — they  were  written  in 
the  same  spirit  as  a  child  builds  Golden  Castles 
in  Sunny  Spain. 

Scottie  McKensie  Frasler. 


Introduction 

Do  you  remember  how  at  the  end  of  "Peter 
Pan"  Maud  Adams  used  to  ask  the  children  pres 
ent  if  they  believed  in  fairies?  That  is  what  this 
Introduction  is  going  to  ask  you,  "Grown-ups." 

Once  upon  a  time  in  the  foothills  of  Alabama's 
Blue  Ridge  Mountains,  in  a  dear  old  white  pil 
lared  house  surrounded  by  gigantic  sentinel-trees, 
there  was  born  a  little  girl  whose  eyes  were  dark 
and  wide  with  wonder.  The  village  near  her  home 
was  called  "Tal  La  De  Ga",  or  to  translate  from 
the  Indian  tongue:  "Bride-of-the-Mountains";  and 
all  'round  about  it,  in  woods  and  streams  and 
fields,  the  fairies  lived. 

Now  this  little  girl  believed  in  fairies — she 
believed  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul  before 
she  knew  anything  whatever  about  the  world,  or 
people,  or  things — or  sadness.  She  knew  that  in 
the  flowers  there  dwelt  always  the  Fairy  Queen 
of  Growing  Things;  that  in  the  trees  the  Fairies- 
of-the-Dancing-Breezes  clapped  their  hands.  She 
understood  full  well — tho'  no  one  had  ever  told  her 
so — that  in  the  Brook  by  the  Rock  the  Spray 
Sprites  spun  their  web  of  foamy,  diamond-dusted 
lace.  She  had  seen  them  do  it!  She  knew,  too,  that 
Rainbow  Fairies  lived  in  the  clouds  and  were  the 
souls  of  earth's  Flower-fairies,  glorified.  All  these 
things,  and  more,  she  knew.  And  she  used  to  think 
and  dream  about  them  when  old  Mr.  Moon-man 
climbed  slowly  up  into  the  sky  to  peep  in  through 
the  vines  where  the  mocking-bird  sang.  Such 
knowledge  made  her  very  happy;  and  she  would 
go  to  sleep  and  bob  down,  down,  down,  down  to 
the  land  of  Nod  where  the  Night  Fairies  loved 
her  well. 

But  all  this  was  before  the  day  when  she  dis 
covered  those  wonderful  books  in  the  library 
which  had  belonged  to  everyone  she  herself  be 
longed  to  for  generations  and  generations!  When 
she  discovered  those  books  a  new  fairy  came 
into  her  big  little  heart — the  Fairy  Who  Loved 
to  Learn.  From  that  day  on  this  Sprite  perched 


with  her  upon  the  arm  of  her  Daddy's  deep  arm 
chair  where  she  sat  and  spelled  out  all  the  in 
teresting  rhymes.  It  accompanied  her  afield, 
opening  her  Make-believe  eyes  so  that  she  could 
see  all  the  fairies  everywhere.  It  even  cuddled 
nearby  when  she  sat  at  her  Mother's  knee  listen 
ing  long  hours  to  Shelly,  Keats  and  Wordsworth. 
Tennyson,  too,  this  learned  fairy  knew.  And  so 
now  when  the  mocking-bird  sang  her  his  good 
night  song  from  the  vine  she  would  kneel  each 
night  and  say: 

"O  Jesus,  make  me  a  really  truly  poet  like 
Tennyson.  One  who  can  tell  others  about  the 
secrets  that  fairies  teach  me." 

And  so  it  was  that  the  years  went  by,  and  the 
little  girl  grew  into  a  maiden  whose  glossy  brown 
braids  were  twisted  into  a  grown-up-lady's  knot; 
she  went  to  college.  The  Fairy  Who  Loved  to 
Learn  went  with  her.  During  her  years  of  study 
at  the  Judson,  and  as  student  and  writer  of  fic 
tion  at  Columbia,  this  fairy  was  her  friend.  Later 
it  taught  her  how  to  write  successful  interviews 
with  the  Big  Folk  of  the  Earth,  who,  like  her, 
were  big  because  they  still  had  the  heart  of  a 
child! 

But  during  all  these  busy  years  there  was  one 
thing  that  both  of  them  had  somehow  forgotten 
for  a  spell — the  little  girl's  poet-prayer.  Now  It 
is  written  in  words  of  golden  promise  upon  that 
part  of  the  fairy's  Come-true  Kingdom  where  God 
lives,  that  no  prayer  shall  ever  go  unanswered — 
and  so  it  was  that  when  this  grown-up  little  girl 
not  many  moons  ago  left  the  big  city,  New  York, 
which  she  loved  so  dearly,  to  return  to  her 
beloved  Alabama,  she  found  herself  again  in  a 
rambling  old  Southern  home  surrounded  by  trees 
and  singing  birds — then  her  childhood  dream  re 
turned  and  filled  her  heart.  She  wrote  this  book 
of  verse — a  book  sparkling  with  all  the  secrets 
that  the  fairies  had  taught  her:  Hope,  Cheer, 
Belief,  Forgivness,  Understanding,  Truth  and 
Love.  HELEN  SMITH  WOODRUFF. 

September,  1920. 


Contents 

The  Gifts. 

Plea  to  Life 

Would  I  Know  You? 

Let  Me  Be  Kind. 

The  Wanderer's  Regret. 

Why? 

The  Thought  of  You. 

Regret. 

Only  One  Hour. 

The  Butterfly. 

The  Poet. 

Thee  and  Me. 

I  Can  Forgive. 

Minnehaha   Falls. 

God's  Plan. 

The  Rainbow. 

Poetry. 

The  Laborer. 

The  Light  of  Love. 

A  First  Night. 

Come  Back.     (Love  Song). 

The  Woman  Who  Cares. 

The  Queen. 

My  Friend. 

I  Would  Trust  You  Still. 

The   Things   I  Love. 

The  Sinner. 

Since  You  Went  Away. 

Glimpses  of  Heaven. 

Never  Let  Me  Know. 

Too  Late. 

Life. 

Had  You  Not  Come. 

What  I  Want  Most. 

One  Perfect  Day. 

The  Rebel. 

You. 

I  Think  of  Thee. 

The  Tramp. 

What  You  Have  Meant  to  Me 

I  Love  You. 

When  I'm  With  You. 

Death. 


Scottie  McKenzie  Frasier 


The  Gifts 


Give  me  work  to  do, 

Give  me  health, 

Give  me  joy  in  simple  things, 

Give  me  an  eye  for  beauty, 

A  tongue  for  truth, 

A  heart  that  loves, 

A  mind  that  reasons, 

A  sympathy  tha+  understands. 

Give  me  neither  malice  nor  envy, 

But  a  true  kindness 

And  a  noble  common  sense, 

At  the  close  of  each  day 

Give  me  a  book 

And  a  friend  with  whom 

I  can  be  silent. 


(PUBLISHERS'  NOTE:  The  above  prayer-poem 
won  the  first  prize  in  the  contest  conducted  by 
the  Alabama  Federation  of  Women's  Clubs,  No 
vember,  1920.  Mr.  W.  T.  Sheehan,  editor  of  The 
Montgomery  Advertiser,  in  conveying  the  deci 
sion  to  Mrs.  J.  Brevard  Jones,  President  of  the 
Federation,  said:  "I  am  giving  the  first'  place  to 
the  prayer-poem,  "The  Gifts,'  because  of  its  origi 
nality,  its  simplicity  and  its  native  power." 


Plea  to  Life 

Life,  break  me  if  you  will, 

Test  me  to  see  if  I  be  wanting; 

Take  from  me  what  I  hold  dearest, 

Strike  me  dumb  with  sorrow. 

Give  me  love,  then  deny  it  me. 

Let  me  drink  of  success  and  failure; 

Smite  me  with  agonizing  pain, 

Kill  my  ambitions, 

Shatter  my  dreams  and — again! 

Life,  though  you  demand  your  heaviest  toll 

O,  Life,  let  not  bitterness  stain  my  soul. 


Would  I  Know  You? 

Would  I  know  you? 

If  years  should  pass, 

And  I  should  not  hear 

The  sound  of  your  voice, 

Or  feel  the  pulsing  of 

My  blood  like  wine, 

When  I  hold  you  to  this  heart  of  mine  ? 

Would  I  know  you 

If  miles  separated  you  from  me 

And  if  rumor  left  unspoken  no  word 

To  poison  my  trust  in  you? 

O,  heart  of  my  heart, 

I  would  know 

The  perfume  of  your  breath, 

Were  it  wafted  to  me 

From  the  distant  stars ; 

I  would  know  the  music  of  your  voice 

Were  it  mingled  with  the  strains 

Of  an  angel's  song; 

And  I  would  know  your  presence 

Had  I  been  asleep  for  ages 

And  awakened  and  you  were  near. 

It  is  the  soul  of  you 

That  fires  my  heart 

That  makes  me  kneel  at  your  holy  shrine 

For  the  Gods  so  fashioned  you 

That  I  might  know 

And  single  you  out  of  the  multitude 

To  be  for  all  ages  this  mate  of  mine. 


Let  Me  Be  Kind 

Not  for  riches  or  fame  do  I  pray 

But  just  this  one  -thing 

I  ask  for  each  day : 

O,  Lord,  in  thine  infinite  plan, 

Let  me  be  kind 

To  my  fellow  man. 


A  Wanderer's  Regret 

I  come  and  go, 

I  can  not  stay 

In  any  one  place 

For  more  than  a  day, 

Before  the  wander-lust 

Calls  me  away; 

Yet  to  leave  my  new-made  friends 

Brings  a  pain  to  my  heart, 

And  it  makes  me  grieve 

That  it  ever  must  be  so — 

New  friends  and  old  friends  left  behind 

While  I  follow  the  trails  that  wind  and  wind. 


Why? 

Why  do  the  depths  oi  your  eyes  beguile? 
Why  do  your  red  lips  tempt  as  they  smile? 
Why  do  the  roses  fresh  with  the  dew 
Bring  to  me  only  a  picture  of  you? 


The  Thought  of  You 

You  are  the  golden  hills 

On  the  sky  of  my  heart, 

And  the  soul  of  me 

Can. never  be  crushed; 

Now  shall  I 

Ever  be  slave 

To  any  Fate ; 

For  the  thought  of  you 

Will  be  a  gleam 

Of  beauty,  that  will  shine 

In  any  sordid  life  of  mine. 


Regret 

By  a  careless  act, 

A  thoughtless  word, 

I  wounded  a  human  heart. 

Darkness  has  settled  o'er  the  world, 

No  stars  come  out  to  shine, 

The  blackness  of  the  night  oppresses  me. 

But  the  radiance  of  all  the  suns 

Would  seem  a  lesser  light 

To  the  joy  that  it  would  bring, 

If  on  some  fairy's  wing 

Could  be  brought  back  to  me 

The  cruel  words  of  mine 

That  so  wounded  thee. 


Only  One  Hour 

Not  for  heaven  or  mercy  do  I  pray, 

But  grant  me  one  hour 

With  the  heart  of  my  heart; 

Only  one  hour, 

Ere  life  and  I  do  part, 

Grant  just  one  hour, 

Only  one  hour. 


The  Butterfly 

My  love  has  no  bounds  of  earth  and  sky, 

No  limitations  of  time  and  space; 

It  was  born  of  ages  past,  when  man 

Was  only  a  dream  in  God's  heart; 

Through  all  the  eons  I've  loved  you. 

Once  when  you  were  a  butterfly 

And  still  in  my  silken  cage  was  I, 

You  forsook  the  flowers 

And  stopped  your  merry  dance  in  the  yellow 

sun 

To  linger  near  me ; 

I  was  a  butterfly  ere  the  day  was  done. 
Oh !  the  joy  that  was  in  your  eye 
When   I   came   from  my  prison  home  to  be 

your  mate. 

Centuries  later  I  was  taken  a  Grecian  slave 
To  the  court  of  the  Roman  Empire, 
And  the  Emperor  smiled  as  he  ordered 
My  chains  asunder 
And  leaning  near  me  whispered  : 
"My  little  bride." 


And  we  remembered  together 

The  lives  we  had  lived  in  Egypt,  Persia  and 

Ancient  India. 
God's  cycles  move  slowly. 
But  last  night  as  we  sat 
Together  in  the  park, 
That  little  wooded  plaza, 
In  the  heart  of  the  noisy  city, 
There  came  again  the  lighted  spark ; 
I  knew  you  to  be  my  mate  down  the  ages. 
I  wondered  if  you   too    knew    or    did    you 

remember, 

My  Emperor  ?  when  you  whispered : 
"All  these  years  I've  waited  for  you, 
I  knew  that  neither  deep  nor  high 
Could  keep  me  from  my  own  original  butter- 

fly." 


The  Poet 

The  world  has  its  beauty, 

The  bird  has  its  song, 

The  flower  its  perfume 

That  gladdens  the  heart, 

Though  it  lives  not  long. 

The  philosopher  has  his  vision, 

Which  lifts  man's  burdens 

And  lessens  his  care. 

The  Poet  has  his  cross 

Else  he  could  not  stir  men's  souls  so  deep. 

Not  in  repose  nor  quiet  sleep 

Comes  to  the  poet  this  flash  or  spark, 

Which  quickens  the  brain  and  wrings  one's 

heart; 
Some  time,  some  where,  the  poet  knelt  beneath 

the  cross, 

And  like  the  One  who  died  on  the  Tree, 
He  drank  sorrow's  cup  for  you  and  me; 
That  we  might  know  without  feeling 
The  cut  of  the  thorn, 
And  enduring  the  blow, 
How  the  soul  can  suffer 
And  how  the  heart  can  love. 
He  knows  the  gold  from  the  shining  dross, 
For  the  poet  has  kissed  the  cross. 


Thee  and  Me 

If  I  had  only  an  hour  to  live 

I'd  want  to  live  it  with  thee. 

If  the  world  and  all  its  beauty 

Were  given  me 

I'd  cherish  it  only  long  enough 

To  give  it  all  to  thee. 

If  only  a  day  to  live 

Was  allotted  me, 

I  would  ask  the  Maker  of  days  and  years 

To  give  this  my  only  day,  to  thee. 


I  Can  Forgive 

I  can  forgive  the  harsh  words  you've  spoken, 
I  can  forgive  your  frowns  and  forget  my  tears, 
I  can  forgive  the  lonely  hours  when  you  left 

me; 

But  my  illusion  of  love  you've  broken, — 
This  I  can  never,  never,  forgive. 


Minnehaha  Falls 

In  the  wilds  of  Minnesota 

Are  the  falls  of  Minnehaha. 

Longfellow  made  you,  Laughing  Waters, 

To  ripple  down  the  ages, 

To  bring  joy  to  many  children, 

And  a  smile  to  the  hearts  of  sages. 

Artists  have  painted  your  sparkling  hues, 

They've  immortalized  your  rocks, 

Your  flowers,  bright  with  dews ; 

But  once  beside  you 

We  stood — he  and  I — < 

Forgetful  of  the  earth,  the  sky; 

And  now  your  gurgling  laughter 

Means  not  poet  or  artist  to  me, 

Minnehaha,  Laughing  Waters, 

Thou  art  love,  thou  art  love, 

Ever  thus  will  it  so  be 

Always,  always  love  to  me. 


God's  Plan 

I  sat  near  the  sea: 

The  last  rays  of  the  sun 

Were  reflected  to  me 

In  scarlet  and  gold. 

Two  children  came 

Beneath  my  sheltering  rock, 

One  caught  up  a  handful  of  clean  white  sand 

"You  are  a  tell-tale-tattler,"  the  older  cried, 

As  the  sand  in  the  face  of  the  younger 

Curly-head  she  plied. 

Two  lovers  came  upon  the  view : 

She  upbraiding  him,  "You  are  untrue". 

The  sparkling  jewel  from  her  finger 

She  scornfully  withdrew 

And  gave  to  him; 

Haughtily  she  turned  and  walked  away, 

The  ring  he  madly  threw  into  the  bay. 

Next  came  a  couple  of  maturer  years : 
Quietly  they  sat  looking  out  o'er  the  calm  blue 

sea; 

In  silence  each  drank  deep  of  the  beauty 
Of  that  twilight  hour. 

So  unlike  hot-headed  youth  were  they, 

I  marvelled  and  wondered  why 

That  neither  the  children  nor  the  lovers, 

Heeded  not  the  grandeur  of  that  perfect  sky, 

Their  eyes  beholding  °^w  not 


The  loveliness  of  the  day ; 

In  anger  and  with  heart  aches  each  had  gone, 

To  nurse  his  grievance 

In  his  own  particular  way. 

The  oldest  couple  having  learned  to  overlook 

Life's  trifles,  sat  in  peace 

And  enjoyed  the  quiet  ending  of  the  day. 

In  memory  oft'  have  I  lived  again 

Those  moments  by  the  sea; 

For  there  I  learned, 

A  secret  of  Gods'  plan : 

Not  childhood  nor  high  spirited  youth 

Is  the  best  part  of  the  life  of  man, 

But  the  sun-set  time, 

When  life's  lessons  we've  learned : 

When  we  have  dropped  from  our  natures 

Pettiness,  ungoverned  tempers,  hasty  and  cruel 

judgments, 

And  in  their  place  keep  only  love 
And  tolerance  for  our  fellow  man ; 
Surely  this  must  be  God's  plan. 


The  Rainbow 

The  sun  smiles  and  tints  the  flowers, 
The  clouds  turn  to  April  showers ; 
Through  the  heavens  the  sunbeams  dance, 
Flirting  with  the  raindrop's  glance. 
But  when  the  raindrop  weds  a  sunbeam, 
And  the  other  beams  dance  by, 
The  sun  announces  their  marriage 
By  painting  a  rainbow  in  the  sky. 


Poetry 

Poetry?  .    .    . 

The  smile  on  a  baby's  face, 

The  perfume  of  a  rose, 

The  laugh  of  happy  children, 

The  Autumn  wind  that  blows, 

The  bright  wings  of  the  butterfly, 

The  crimson  and  gold  of  the  evening  sky. 


The  Laborer 

O,  Laborer ! 

Some  hearts  ache  for  you 

As  you  stand  with  feet  buried  in  mud, 

Digging,  lifting,  forever  toiling, 

That  the  tall  building  may  grow. 

If  once  they  look  upon  your  smile 

Their  pity  for  you  will  be  no  more ; 

Nor  will  they  wonder  why 

This  joy  is  in  your  soul. 

For  they  will  know 

By  the  radiance  of  your  face 

That  you  see  not  the  mud, 

But  the  building  as  it  grows. 

You  look  up  and  behold 

The  blue  of  the  sky, 

Your  heart  is  in  your  work. 

You  are  not  a  toiler 

Who  merely  spades 

Clod  after  clod, 

You  are  a  creator, 

You  are  like  God. 


The  Light  of  Love 

I  am  glad  I've  loved  you 

For  no  sorrow  now  can  come  to  me, 

No  blow  cruel  enough  to  crush  my  joy 

For  always  the  vision  of  you 

Will  be  to  me, 

Like  a  faithful  light 

Is  to  the  sailor 

On  a  storm-tossed  sea. 


A  First  Night 

The  play  tonight  was  amusement  for  many; 

To  the  actors  behind  the  curtain 

Itrwas  professional  success, 

To  some  it  was  labor  for  bread. 

As  they  shifted  the  scenery,  few  smiles,  if  any, 

Lift  up  their  hard  and  deep-lined  faces, 

As  they  converted  drawing-rooms 

Into  country  places. 

The  leading  .lady  played  well  her  part. 

A  rose  she  threw  into  the  box 

Where  sat  the  playwright, 

For  she  knew  what  that  night  meant  to  him : 

In  his  life  it  was  his  triumphant  day, 

For  his  soul  was  expressed  in  the  play. 

The  critics  acclaimed  it  to  be  really  art, 

To  him  it  was  as  a  child  is  to  the  mother. 

It  was  more  than  success,  it  was  his  heart. 


Come  Back 

(A  Love  Song) 

I  miss  you  in  the  morning 
And  at  the  close  of  day, 

I  miss  you  in  the  spring-time 

And  along  the  moon-lit  way. 

I  love  you  always,  always, 

Forever  and  a  year; 
Come  back,  come  back,  to  me, 

I  am  so  lonely,  dear. 

Come  back  and  let  me  rest 

In  the  sunshine  of  your  smile, 

Come  back  and  make  my  life 
One  perfect,  golden  while. 


The  Woman  Who  Cares 

Miles  away,  yet  waiting  for  me 
Is  the  woman  who  cares ; 
For  her  sake  I'll  win  and  be  free 
To  go  to  her  with  a  clean,  strong  hand. 
Her  faith  is  ever  my  guiding  star 
And  my  destiny  I  will  command; 
For  always  I  feel  her  presence  filled  with  trust, 
Whispering  to  me :  "Win,  you  must ;  win,  you 
must". 


The  Queen 

The  lumber  king-  came  into  our  midst, 

Married  he  was,  we  knew ; 

Surely  his  wife  is  a  veritable  queen, 

Tall  and  princess-like, 

I  fashioned  her  in  my  dream. 

Oft  did  he  quote  the  wisdom  of  his  mate : 

A  learned  woman,  the  men  protested, 

And  together  we  dreaded  her  arrival. 

A  volume  of  poetry  he  produced  one  day, 

Written  by  the  wife  we  feared. 

A  queen,  a  philosopher,  a  poet, 

How  we  hated  her  coming ! 

Why  should  he  bring  her  to  our  crude  Ititle 
town, 

To  make  us  feel  our  commonness? 

He  took  a  cottage  near  the  bay, 

She  came; 

This  we  knew,  though  none  of  the  village-folk 
had  seen  her. 

"Close  to  her  castle,  the  queen  keeps",  laughetf 
the  town  wag. 

Yet,  every  one  had  seen  a  girl  who  had  ac 
companied  her. 

Not  beautiful  nor  tall  nor  princess-like,  was 
she. 

The  children  played  with  her  upon  the  beach, 

The  older  boys  and  girls  swam  races  with  her, 

And  revelled  in  her  merry-making; 

All  wondered  who  she  was. 

Finally,  it  was  suggested  by  one  of  the  women, 

Who  traveled  sometimes  to  the  cities : 


"Probably  the  girl  is  hand-maid  to  the  queen", 
"Are     you     the     great     man's     maid?"  one 

ventured. 
Smiling  sweetly,  she  nodded  her  little  brown 

head. 
"Your  name?"  demanded  Rhoden,  the  Beau 

Brummel  of  the  place. 
"Call  me  Dare",  she  begged. 
From  that  day  on,  Dare  became  the  favorite 

of  the  village. 

She  gave  books  to  the  elderly  ones, 
And  good  things  to  the  sick. 
The  fortunes  of  the  youths  she  told ; 
Declaring  to  any  heights  ascend  they  could 
If  only  study  hard  they  would. 
One  day  the  most  curious  of  us  inquired : 
"What  kind  of  a  person  is  this  wife  of  our 

great  man?" 
The  little  maid  laughed  and  in  the  manner  of 

a  child  replied : 
"A  strange  mixture  is  she, 
For  the  life  of  me, 
I  can  not  her  describe". 

The  lumber  king  returned  from  a  trip. 

"We  will  see  her  now",  we  thougth. 

To  the  train  a  number  of  us  went. 

Standing  near  the  depot  was 

Our  king's  big  touring  machine ; 

But  to  our  regret  therein  was  no  queen. 

"  'T would  be  beneath  her  dignity  to  meet  a 

train",  we  decided. 
The  black  engine  came  in  sight, 
And  from  the  door  of  his  private  car 


The  lumber  king  strode  forth. 
To  our  horror, 

Plain  little  Dare  ran  up  the  steps 
And  jumped  into  his  arms! 
He  held  her  very  close  and  laughed, 
As  she  hugged  him  like  a  child. 
The  villagers  rubbed  their  eyes  and  gasped. 
Several  braver  than  the  rest, 
Ventured  near  to  welcome  him  home  again. 
"My  wife  you  know,  for  she  has  written  me 
Of  loving  each  and  every  one  of  you". 
Dare  smiled  and  her  eyes  twinkled  mischiev 
ously, 

As  she  cried : 

"Come  to  see  him  and  his  little  maid ! 
Please  come  soon,  do  not  wait, 
For  all  of  you  owe  me  many  visits". 

"Why  she  is  just  like  a  little  child!" 

Said  the  oldest  citizen  of  the  bay. 

"She'll  never  grow  up",  declared  Rhoden — 

Whom  later  the  king  sent  off  to  college. 

But  who  would  wish  her  different! 

Dare  she  was  when  first  we  met, 

And  Dare,  always  she  will  be 

To  the  village  folk  and  me ; 

Better  every  day  we  love  her 

This  child-woman,  poet  and  philosopher. 


My  Friend 

I  long-  for  thee  to  know 
What  thou  art  to  me. 
Though  I  have  no  words 
To  tell  my  love  to  thee, 
I  must  whisper  in  thine  ear 
I  wish  that  I  might  be 
Just  such  a  friend  to  thee 
As  thou  hast  been  to  me. 


I  Would  Trust  You  Still 

If  the  whole  world  should  doubt 

I  would  trust  you  still, 

If  Fate  should  take  me  away  from  you 

I  would  know  in  my  heart 

That  you  would  always,  always  be  true ; 

Even  though  I  were  gone  away  so  far 

As  the  earth  is  from  the  distant  star. 


The  Things  I  Love 

A  butterfly  dancing  in  the  sunlight, 

A  bird  singing  to  his  mate 

The  whispering  pines, 

The  restless  sea, 

The  gigantic  mountains, 

A  stately  tree, 

The  rain  upon  the  roof, 

The  sun  at  early  dawn, 

A  boy  with  rod  and  hook, 

The  babble  of  a  shady  brook, 

A  woman  with  her  smiling  babe, 

A  man  whose  eyes  are  kind  and  wise, 

Youth  that  is  eager  and  unafraid. 

When  all  is  said  I  do  love  best 

A  little  home  where  love  abides, 

And  where  there's  kindness,  peace  and  rest. 


The  Sinner 

I  have  sinned  in  the  eyes  of  man 

I  have  broken  his  laws 

And  defied  his  ways, 

Traveled  my  own  road 

And  gambled  my  days. 

I've  played  too  much 

Creating  nothing  worth  wihle, 

I've  squandered  my  time 

And  wasted  my  worth, 

Ignored  man's  wishes 

Forgotten  God's  church. 

But  only  one  regret 

Comes  at  the  close  of  Life's  day, 

I  broke  a  heart 

When  I  went  astray. 


Since  You  Went  Away 

Since  you  went  away 
There  is  no  sunshine  in  my  day — 
Everything  seems  to  go  wrong; 
In  my  soul  there  is  no  song, 
In  my  life  no  perfect  while, 
On  my  face  no  radiant  smile, 
I  can  only  think  of  the  happy  yesterday- 
There  is  no  joy  since  you  went  away. 


Glimpse  of  Heaven 

Today  a  bird  at  my  window  sang, 
Today  a  child  into  my  face  smiled, 
Today  wise  words  into  my  ears  rang, 
Today  love  came  and  my  heart  beguiled. 
To  some  these  are  incidents,  merely, 
But  to  me  they  are  so  clearly 
Glimpses  of  Heaven. 


Never  Let  Me  Know 

If  in  your  heart  ever  dies  this  flame 
And  your  love  should  wither  as  the  rose, 
Go  away  and  leave  me 
But  never  let  me  know. 


Too  Late 

Oh !  why  did  you  wait 

So  long  to  come  into  my  life? 

Was  it  a  trick  of  Fate 

To  send  you  to  me 

Years  too  late,  too  late? 

In  my  dreams  I  hear 
You  calling,  ever  calling  me; 
Then  I  waken  and  I  fear, 
Lest  the  memory  of  your  smile 
May  beguile  and  I'll  go  to  thee. 

Was  it  the  cruelty  of  Fate 
That  kept  you  from  me, 
Then  sent  you  too  late,  too  late? 
Forever  like  this  must  it  be — 
I  must  not,  must  not 
Go  to  thee. 


Life 

Yotncame  and  I  played, 
Yet  always  there  was  a  longing 
I  knew  not  why,  nor  for  what 
But  ever  unsatisfied  was  I. 

Experience  came  with  Poverty,  Disappoint 
ment,  Sorrow, 

Ambition  and  Disillusion,  Health  and  Sick 
ness. 

A  little  dazed  and  stunned  was  I 

By  life's  untangled  mysteries, 

Still  I  was  unsatisfied. 

Work  came  and  interest  too, 

Wealth  followed  in  close  pursuit, 

Fame  brought  honors  and  costly  gifts; 

Yet  still  there  was  that  smoldering  desire 

For  what?    Yea,  I  knew  not. 

At  last  came  Love,  not  Passion, 

Love,  clad  in  white  robes  of  purity  and  truth; 

I  bowed  my  head,  so  unworthy  did  I  feel. 

But  love  was  unselfish  and  kind, 

At  last  the  hunger  of  my  soul  was  satisfied. 


Had  You  Not  Come 

Had  you  not  come  into  my  life 

Ignorant  still  I'd  be  of  love, 

And  what  the  wild  passion  means ; 

This  longing  of  my  soul  unsatisfied, 

I'd  never  have  known. 

Though  my  heart  aches  tonight, 

Yet  would  it  be  right 

For  me  to  say: 

I  wish  you  had  never  come 

And  the  still  depths  of  my  nature 

Had  never  been  disturbed? 

O,  God,  not  that ! 


What  I  Want  Most 

No,  I  will  not  ask  of  Fate  to  give  me  beauty, 

Nor  to  give  me  fame  or  character  so  strong, 

That  I  will  not  fail  of  duty, 

I  will  not  pray  for  ease, 

Or  contentment  with  riches. 

I  will  not  beg  for  any  of  these  precious  things ; 

Yet  I  trust  Fate  will  give 

Me  work  to  do 

And  I  can't  keep  from  wishing 

For  a  home  and  you. 


One  Perfect  Day 

For  one  happy  day  I  was  yours, 

We  wandered  o'er  the  hills 

And  gathered  flowers; 

We  played  as  children. 

The  world  was  ours 

So  short  a  time  and  then — 

Time  has  passed,  still  I  can  not  pray ; 

Yet,  the  Maker  of  all  joys  must  know 

I  am  thankful  for  that  perfect  day. 


The  Rebel 

I  long  to  be  a  rebel 

And  do  as  I  gaily  please, 

To  live  like  a  butterfly 

Dancing  in  the  summer  breeze. 

To  sing  as  do  the  birds 

When  the  song  is  in  my  throat, 

To  lie  under  the  tall  oak  trees 

To  let  my  dreams  unguided  float ; 

To  dance  on  the  green, 

Caring  not  if  I  am  seen 

To  throw  conventions  away, 

To  live  my  life  every  day 

With  freedom  like  the  birds  and  honey-bees. 


You 

I  look  at  the  evening  star 

And  think  of  the  times  when  you  and  I 

Wandered  together  beneath  a  summer  sky. 

I  look  at  the  new  born  moon 

And  remember  the  hour  when  you  and  I  sat 
beneath  a  tree 

And  you  whispered  your  soul's  deepest  long 
ings  to  me. 

And  I  think  of  the  day  when  you  and  I 

Climbed  the  hill-side 

And  sitting  near  an  old  moss  covered  stone 
rugged  and  gray, 

You  took  me  in  your  arms 

And  held  me  close,  and  we  longed  to  stay 

For  ever  and  ever  from  the  world  away. 

Time  has  passed ;  still, 

I  long  to  live  again  that  day, 

For  the  depths  of  the  heavens  blue, 

The  green  of  the  hills 

Speak  to  me  only  of  you. 


I  Think  of  Thee 

Alone  I  sit  and  think  of  thee, 

Think  of  the  hours  you  spent  with  me, 

Think  of  the  things  we  planned  to  do 

Think  of  the  days  when  my  world  was  you. 

The  moon,  the  birds,  the  tall  oak  tree 

All  remind  me  of  only  thee 

And  though  the  world  will  never  know 

I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you  so. 


The  Tramp 

The  woods,  the  road,  the  tall  pine  tree, 

Are  each  in  their  way  calling  me, 

I  long  to  stay  with  you,  I  love; 

But  the  moon,  the  sky  and  the  stars  above 

Are  saying  to  me:  "Come  away,  come  away". 

Oh!  dear  heart, 

I  can  not  stay; 

For  the  wilds  of  the  forest 

Call  loudly  today. 

I  long  to  linger  a  golden  while 

To  drink  of  your  beauty 

And  bask  in  your  smile, 

But  go  I  must 

I  can  not  stay 

The  call  to  the  tramp  is  too  strong  today. 

It  is  the  fault  of  the  sky, 

The  mountain  trail. 

The  tall  pine  tree; 

For  they  keep  on  calling, 

Calling  me. 


What  You  Have  Meant  to  Me 

If  you  should  come  tonight 

Would  you  love  to  know : 

That  all  these  years  through 

I've  been  waiting  for  you? 

I've  kept  my  heart 

As  you  left  it; 

No  flattering  phrase  has  tempted, 

No  love  songs  have  lured, 

No  stranger  has  entered  in. 

That  the  vision  of  you  has  guided 

Each  faltering  step  of  mine, 

And  the  memory  of  your  face 

Has  been  to  me  like  wine 

That  quickens  the  pulse 

And  stimulates  the  mind ! 

Oft  in  the  dark  I've  trembled 

At  the  noise  of  the  wind, 

Then  the  thought  of  you 

Would  make  me  brave — 

For  your  sake  I've  prayed : 

Let  me  be  all  he  would  have  me  be, 

And  when  he  comes 

Let  him  find  me  beautiful, 

In  thought  and  deed 

Too  big  for  sect  or  creed; 

And  when  he  looks 

Into  my  face 

Let  him  see  no  ugly  marks  of  care, 

Of  doubt  or  shattered  dreams, 

Let  him  find  only  love  carved  there. 


1  Love  You 

I  love  you  in  the  morning, 

When  the  flowers  are  bright  with  dew; 

I  love  you  in  the  evening 

When  the  sun  in  a  triumph  of  gold 

Bids  farewell  to  the  tired  earth 

Leaving  her  the  darkness  to  enfold, 

Then  sinks  behind  the  distant  hill. 

I  love  you  in  the  night  time 

When  the  stars  come  out  and  flirt 

With  the  moonbeams  above  the  mill. 

I  loved  you  in  the  ages  past 

Where  memory  never  dwells ; 

I'll  love  you  in  eternity 

For  ever  and  a  day. 

Go,  my  love, 

I  can  not  bid  you  stay. 

My  love  is  not  of  fleeting  time 

So  wander  without  fear; 

For  I'll  be  waiting  for  you ; 

Yes,  waiting,  waiting  always, 

For  you,  my  dear. 


When  I'm  With  You 

Now  that  you  have  gone  away 

There  is  so  much  I  long  to  say. 

When  I  am  with  you,  dear, 

When  I  feel  that  you  are  near 

The  joy  of  your  presence 

Makes  me  dumb. 

When  you  are  with  me 

Words  seem  too  empty 

To  express  what's  in  my  breast. 

And  in  the  silence  of  those  moments 

When  you  hold  me  to  your  heart, 

You  must  know  what  I  long  to  tell, 

You  must  feel  the  ecstasy  of  my  being; 

And  hear  the  music  of  the  words  unspoken, 

The  promise  of  my  love  unbroken ; 

You  must  hear  the  song 

That's  in  my  throat, 

And  feel  the  music 

Of  each  silent  note 

As  your  lips  you  press  to  mine. 

And  you  must  know  that  my  love 

For  ever  and  ever  will  be  thine. 


Death 

Death  took  away  my  Friend, 

Sorrow  reigned  in  his  home ; 

His  wife  and  children  wept 

And  for  the  future  saw  no  joy. 

Those  who  came  to  do  him  honor 

Spoke  in  whispers  and  were  sad. 

Beside  the  dead  the  watch  I  kept. 

The  very  stillness  of  the  house 

Filled  my  heart  with  sinister  dread; 

Upon  my  hands  I  bowed  my  head. 

Some  moments  later,  when  I  looked  up 

My  Friend  was  standing  near. 

He  seemed  the  same 

Save  for  a  radiance 

That  shone  upon  his  face. 

The  lines  of  worry  and  care 

Were  no  longer  written  there. 

He  spoke  in  his  old  familiar  way : 

"For  me  let  there  be  no  sorrow — 

Death  is  merely  a  birth, 

With  every  birth  goes  pain. 

Look  on  my  body  lying  here 

As  you  would  upon  my  old  garment; 

Wear  no  black  for  me, 

But  know  that  this  night 

I  was  born  again — 

So  weep  not  for  me 

Nor  wish  me  back; 

My  life  is  full  of  joy  and  freedom". 

He  vanished  as  silently  as  he  came. 

I  rose  and  looked 


Upon  his  face  of  clay; 

There  was  a  smile  so  lovely 

That  I  knew  he  had  beheld  a  vision 

As  he  entered  the  Dawn 

Of  his  New  Day. 

No,  I  will  not  grieve  for  him,  nor  sorrow ; 

For  on  that  night, 

When  I  kept  watch  with  the  dead 

I  learned  Death's  secret: 

For  lo,  Death  is  a  Gate 

Through  which  man  must  pass 

To  enter  into  a  bigger,  better  life. 

So  when  comes  the  final  call 

Proudly  in  I'll  walk, 

With  spirit  undaunted 

And  head  held  high — 

I  will  not  cringe  or  fear 

When  that  Gate  I  near. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-2m-6,'49(B4568)444 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFQtfSU, 
LOS  ANGELES 


r  . 


I--1 


A    000  923  569    8 


PS 


F86Uf 


